


Every stone where I have bled

by Sternenstaub



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Horny Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Lambert (Witcher), Jaskier has a reputation, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Noble, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Jaskier | Dandelion, Rebellion, Revolution, Swearing, Undercover, courtesan Lambert, small misunderstandings, soldier lambert, still a witcher Lambert, undercover Lambert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29060187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sternenstaub/pseuds/Sternenstaub
Summary: Prince Julian, better known as Jaskier, has been sent out into the field to lead the royal army by his father, under the ever watchful eye of the faithful royal general. Jaskier doesn´t know much about the military but he knows what the general suggests is utter rubbish and will endanger many lives. Lambert, a witcher hired as a mercenary for the army is the only one to agree with Jaskier and gets promptly fired for it.Jaskier sees a possible aide in the angry witcher and suggests to keep him close as an advisor. But they can´t flaunt this openly in front of the general, so they agree Lambert will act as Jaskier´s courtesan to be allowed to stay close.akaJaskier and Lambert plot against the king`s general by acting like Lambert is Jaskier´s courtesan.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 32
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea wouldn´t leave me and here we are now. I have so far 7 chapters outlined, so stay tunded :D  
> Many thanks to octinary for being my awesome beta!

This meeting was dragging on much longer than Jaskier had wanted it to. His feet hurt and he shivered in his very colorful but thin robe. Why did they have to stand in a tent and talk over a map when they could have stayed in a warm tavern on the way?

„If we send division one there and two there,“ the general pointed at two different spots on the maps with much more force than was necessary. 

A part of Jaskier winced, he had watched the scribes draw the maps and how long it took. To see the general hit such a piece of art with a wooden stick hurt almost as much as being hit himself. Almost.

„My Prince, do you agree?“ 

Jaskier nodded before realizing he had no clue what he was agreeing to; his mind had wandered off to the library they had back home in the castle and the warm fireplace surrounded by comfortable chairs. He missed that place. Jaskier looked at the general and hoped he hadn’t agreed to anything too nefarious. Just to be sure he looked at the map. It was now cluttered with small chess pieces. Many of them stood around a small spot on a cliff. Lettenhove castle, the place they crowned the kings. 

It was really more of a fort, heavy defenses surrounded the inner ring full of palatial architecture and decorations. Two decades ago an order of Melitele had taken residence there, when the king of Kerack, Jaskier`s grandfather, had decided to move the capital to a place that was easier to reach, and if they were honest, to a place less cold and drafty.  
Jaskier shivered when the harsh wind from the sea caressed his ankles with an icy grip. It was almost summer, Melitele`s tits, why was it so cold out here?

The general sighed and Jaskier was once again taken out of his musings, „My prince, we`ll attack the castle after sunset. With some luck we should break through their defenses within three days.“ Jaskier nodded once again trying his best to concentrate on the map now. He had not been schooled for this life, had instead studied the fine arts and how to trade, he was never supposed to be on the battlefield. Not until his father decided that was where he would do the least amount of damage to their political alliances and sent him to retrieve several small border places, including this particular fort, from Nilfgaard who had started invading several months ago now. He only ruined one measly, tiny, unimportant, major alliance by telling them their contract was not worth the paper it was written on (and maybe sleeping with the secretaries of two nations, and yes, okay, the duke and duchess of the third party) and before he could blink his father had sent him out into the field with a general looking over his shoulders to make sure Jaskier wouldn't accidentally lose any major battles.

Jaskier stared at the map and pinched his nose, „General, why again is this specific castle so important? Wouldn’t it be more prudent for us to liberate Hamm? It’s one of the biggest trade routes for the kingdom and Nilfgaard has been ambushing our transports for weeks now.“ Some advisors in the background mumbled but nobody actually answered his question. 

The people in the background of the tent were something Jaskier had stopped noticing after just a few days. Whenever he talked about the next step with the general, they were surrounded by lower ranking soldiers. Officially they were standing there to watch and learn but Jaskier thought the general just wanted to boast his rank and make them stand on attention for hours in the cold, drafty tent. 

The most interesting one of them had been a witcher. Jaskier had barely been able to stop staring the first time he saw the brown haired and yellow eyed man, easily half a head taller then the soldiers around him, standing in the tent. He knew his father´s army hired witchers, the old order of monster slayers relying on mercenary work after the monsters had become too few to make travelling around and slay them on a contract basis worth the effort. Jaskier had always wondered how traveling around blindly, hoping for a village to pay you had ever been profitable, what with the amount of money you needed to upkeep two swords and armor on top of that. And that didn't even put any necessary medical treatment into the equation. 

This particular witcher had a small scar over his right eye that hadn't healed well, it probably hadn’t been attended to by a healer Jaskier thought, and the man wore the uniform of a low ranking soldier. Witchers didn't get promoted in the army, but people liked their prowess in the front lines. One witcher easily replaced five infantrymen. Jaskier doubted the witcher was paid five times as much as a usual soldier though. He often looked like he hated this job; Jaskier had rarely seen him close to his comrades. He also wondered why the general forced the witcher to attend these meetings when everyone knew he'd never be promoted to any position that could make strategic calls. The old man probably just enjoyed ordering a witcher around. 

Right now those golden eyes, slitted like a cat's, stared at Jaskier with something between rage and respect. The witcher had been the only one not to mutter or make displeased noises when their prince had dared to disagree with the general. 

The general, appointed military leader and highest ranking officer in all but name, sputtered, „Your highness, you don't know what you're saying. This castle has immeasurable meaning to the whole kingdom! We can’t leave it in the hands of some larcenous Nilfgaardians.“ The background murmur seemed to agree with that sentiment, the witcher not included. 

Jaskier truly didn't understand this. The castle had been all but forgotten until it had been taken by „the enemy“. It had only become important once it was not available anymore. „So what you’re saying is, that our people will happily sacrifice themselves in an offense consisting of three waves, with the expectation, I presume, that waves one and two won't survive, just to get a drafty old castle on a cliff back?“

„Your highness! Surely you must understand! We need that castle!“

„Bollocks! You old fuckers are just mad that old pile of stones was taken out from under your nose. Nobody but some stuck up nobles who can’t let go of the past want it back!“ a background voice suddenly exploded. The witcher, in all his height, reddish brown hair moving agitatedly, shouted at them all. 

The general turned around and stared at him shocked. His face turned red and spittle flew out of his mouth when he shouted, „You! I knew hiring you lot would be more trouble than good! Pack your things and thank every deity you believe in that I can’t put you in front of a military court for this insolence!“

Jaskier watched the witcher stomp away, rage evident in every step. He looked at the man again, at the soldiers visible through the now open tent flap and then at the general, heaving after his outburst like the old man he was. The general would certainly not be running up that cliff himself to besiege the fort nobody wanted. And he agreed with the Witcher’s outbreak, the general wanted to send men to their deaths for the sake of old traditions and hurt pride. They’d lose more people than necessary and gain very little for it.

With that, the meeting was over. The general had decided to attack the fort and what Jaskier thought about it was ignored. While technically he was the leader of the army, in reality no soldier would listen to him with the general standing at his side. He was too new, too unknown and too inexperienced.

As the sun set, Jaskier wandered through the camp. He liked to see the soldiers sit at the fires and talk or sing, liked to watch them trade stories, at least until they noticed him and stopped talking, suddenly uncomfortably with a prince in their middle and he had to walk further away. He often wished he could be with them, could talk and laugh and sing. But that was not the place life had offered him. 

One tent stood a bit further away from the others and Jaskier heard angry muttering coming from it. „Stupid wankers. Bloody fucking morons. Hope they get eaten by a griffin. Let’s see how well they do without me. Fucking assholes.“ Every curse was accompanied by a dull thud. Curious, Jaskier peeked into the tent and saw the witcher throwing his clothes and stuff in bags and boxes. The man was absolutely furious and also shirtless. 

The witcher looked up at him as soon as Jaskier`s breath hitched at the sight. „Fuckers spying on me now as well?“ he growled and prowled forward towards the tent flap. 

Jaskier`s heart rabbitted but he took a deep breath and a step forward into the tent.  
„No spying, just admiring your impressive vocabulary.“ The witcher watched him warily and Jaskier could admire the view: angrily glinting yellow eyes were pinning him down, a bare chest scattered with scars and dusted with reddish brown body hair was breathing heavily. If he hadn’t been worried about this man breaking his neck within the next minute Jaskier would have asked him out for a romp.

„Watching me leave, huh? Making sure I’m gone? Thought you were the only halfway sensible one of the lot but looks like you follow their orders just as mindlessly. That fucking General wants to kill half of his army to attack a fort that only the king wants when there`s a trade city in need of help. But that fucker is so deep up the king's ass, he wouldn't see his own mistakes unless the king ate them.“ The witcher growled and returned to packing his bags, „I'll be gone before nightfall.“

Jaskier watched the angry man, the muscles in his back shifting with every movement. This was the only person to have ever questioned the general out loud, as far as Jaskier could remember. He was the only man to suggest the path of less recognition but also less lives lost, to choose the plan even Jaskier had seen to be more sensible. So Jaskier made a decision.

„Stay,“ he blurted out. 

The witcher turned around, looking at him suspiciously, but waited for Jaskier to continue. 

“Stay, as my advisor. Melitele knows I don't know shit about what I'm doing here and the general is only listening to my father. Stay and help me lead the army.”Jaskier watched the witcher for a reaction. He looked confused but also surprised, and to Jaskier´s relief no longer angry. 

“These wankers would never listen to me.” the man muttered, picking up his clothes again to continue packing.  
“But they'd listen to me, if I made a good suggestion.” Jaskier interjected, even as he realized having a witcher at his side in the war room, listening to his advice over the generals would be asking for trouble. It´d not only be a huge insult to the general and crass disregard for military rank, it´d also make Jaskier look weak and dependent. 

The witcher seemed to have come to the same conclusion and asked with a raised eyebrow, “And these fucking stuck up nobles will just let me go back and talk all over their beloved general? Sure, Sparrow.” 

Jaskier blushed at the nickname, even though he knew it was an insult, a mean pun referencing the eagle on their crest and suggesting that he was too small and unassuming to be one of them, a part of him liked that the witcher used a special name for him.

The witcher had apparently finished packing and turned to leave the tent. To Jaskier´s disappointment he wore a shirt by now.

“Let me think for a moment.” Jaskier raised a hand to stop the witcher from leaving the tent. They both looked slightly startled when Jaskier´s hand connected with the witcher`s chest and he actually stopped. 

“Don't hurt yourself, little bird,” the witcher mocked but waited patiently, taking a step back.

Jaskier remembered his reputation, had worked hard on it for many years. He was known for being soft and peaceful in politics and absolutely insatiable with his affairs. The third prince of Kerack, Julian Alfred Severin Wilhelm Pankratz of Lettenhove-Kerack was mostly known for the many noble lovers he left behind wherever he went and the hearts he broke. A small part of him wondered if the duchess ever forgave him for sleeping with her son, who had been 35 at that time and well able to make his own decisions. Not that you would have noticed it with the way he cowered in front of his mother.

There was no denying it, Jaskier had a reputation among nobles and it had been the reason his father had sent him out into the field, so why should he not use it? Julian, who vastly preferred to be called Jaskier, looked at the witcher, at how attractive he was, at how much his stature resembled some of the nobles he had openly taken to bed at court. Nobody would question it. Nobody would wonder why the prince was interested in a witcher; they were exotic, rare and beautiful, everything a noble wanted. If that wasn´t the true reason Jaskier kept the witcher close, nobody would be the wiser.

“What are your feelings on skimpy silk clothes and sleeping quarters connected to mine?” Jaskier asked tentatively, expecting the witcher to laugh or stomp away. 

„I'm not a servant!“ he answered, taking a step back. 

Jaskier tried to reassure him but struggled to make his suggestion sound less crazy.  
„Not as a servant, as my...ah, well… companion.“ Jaskier blushed scarlet for a moment when he saw the witcher`s eyes widen. „I wouldn’t be the first spoiled prince keeping someone close to him to, ah, well, warm his bed. Not that I expect you to do that! Not at all!“ he quickly continued. „But we could make people believe that’s what it is? I do have a reputation for preferring a certain, ah, flavor of men and you would certainly fit the criteria.“  
Jasier closed his eyes, waiting for the other man to laugh or shove him away. This idea was ridiculous and crazy and the other man would never agree. 

But instead the man looked at him with a thoughtful expression, “Keeping me close undercover? Not the worst idea I have heard today. But I doubt they'd think you’d want this,“ he gestured down his body as if it was something he hated and not something Jaskier would have liked to cling to like a princess in peril. When Jaskier stared at the witcher for a moment, eyes wandering up and down, openly appraising the witcher, he looked away but answered, „Might actually work. These nobles already think the worst of me, might as well use that.”

The surprise must have been clearly written on Jaskier`s face, because the witcher growled at him, “I´m not stupid, pretty boy, even if I might look it. I know many nobles like to keep us as a notch in their bed posts. I`m just not usually the one they´d choose.”

“Smart and beautiful. As I would expect of the courtesan I would choose wherever I walked.” Jaskier smirked at him and was almost sure the witcher blushed. Jaskier himself felt a bit light headed; they were basically planning a military subterfuge built entirely on his reputation as a slut and at the same time he was shamelessly flirting with a man who would soon be entirely dependent on Jaskier`s goodwill. Panic welled up in his chest, the anxiety of accidentally making a mistake by trusting the wrong person. Just because he made the right call this time did not mean the witcher was a strategic genius. But Jaskier had to believe this would work or stand in the shadow of a half mad general and watch dozens of people die.

“How shall I call my future ´bed´ companion?” Jaskier winked at him but made sure not to sound too suggestive and to keep a respectable distance. He knew the witcher had no other place to go and he had basically just offered the man a comfortable home for his military advice. He would not make him believe he, as the prince, expected anything else from the man.

“Lambert,” the witcher answered, not meeting his eyes. 

Jaskier took a step closer and slowly took Lambert´s hand. It felt strong and calloused and dwarfed his own. “Thank you Lambert, I`ll value your advice and treat you like a prince.“ Jaskier was absolutely certain the witcher blushed this time before he turned around and took his bags. „Well, Sparrow, show me the way to your rooms. I want to see the face of the general when he sees I`m still around.“ Lambert smirked with a malicious glint in his eyes. Jaskier laughed and offered him his arm to lead his new ´companion` to their tent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter but gives us some insight to our two guys. The chapter fought me a bit until I remembered I could just change POV. Finicky things, these plots and characters.  
> once again, a thank you to Octinary!  
> (I`ll try to update once a week, but no promises on that)

After Jaskier had the witcher inside his tent he felt his palms get sweaty from nerves and fidgeted with his hands now. What did you say to a man you had just invited into your bedchambers to plan subterfuge under the guise of posing as a courtesan? There had been a great many things the young prince of Kerack had done in his bedrooms but this was not one of them.

Jaskier`s uneasiness apparently made his upbringing emerge and he straightened his posture and offered the witcher, Lambert, a seat and a drink. The man watched him with a raised eyebrow and a small amount of confusion in his eyes, but sat down gently on a plush chair. He looked good, surrounded by red velvet and dark wood, majestic in a way Jaskier could only hope to portrait. `Concentrate!` Jaskier berated himself and occupied his hands with getting them glasses and a drink.

He fiddled with a bottle of wine for far longer than was necessary, he struggled with the damn thing and that was surely not because his hands were shaking, before he finally turned around to the witcher and faced him. They had a plan, Jaskier had a goal and Lambert would help him, he tried to remind himself, like a mantra. 

Lambert looked at him expectantly, waiting for Jaskier to talk. This idea was so outlandish even Jaskier had a hard time wrapping his head around it. Not that the witcher wasn’t absolutely suited for the role, Jaskier would have climbed the man like a tree should he ever have been given the opportunity, but he doubted Lambert would have offered, not to him or any noble.

„So, an undercover concubine, in a hundred years people will write ballads about this.“ He tried to go for levity and smirked slightly. The witcher smirked back. And wasn’t that expression just unfair? It spoke of humor and wit and a mean streak that could easily rival Jaskier`s own. Jaskier could almost believe the witcher felt about him similarly to his own feelings. But a prince learned early in life that people can’t always say no to you, or the princes in his family learned it early at least, and he would not make a mistake because his downstairs brain convinced him Lambert wanted it. That was a mistake that had only happened once in his life.

Jaskier took a sip of the wine, it was sour with a hint of honey, and tried to watch Lambert objectively. The witcher seemed tense but curious. He looked at Jaskier`s clothes strewn around and the untidy desk they were sitting at, stacked with intricate books. Jaskier would have blushed if there hadn’t been much more pressing matters to attend to than the mess he made of any space he occupied for more than five minutes.

“So...” he trailed off again and took a fortifying sip of wine, “as I already mentioned, I do have a reputation.” Lambert nodded as if he wanted to tell Jaskier to get on with it; they had been at this point thirty minutes ago already. But in the light of his own tent and under the scrutiny of a witcher who had not dismissed him outright, Jaskier felt a tad more intimidated than when the plan had formed in his mind. “As of such, it´d be prudent for you to look the part. I hope that won't make you uncomfortable?” Jaskier tilted his head and waited for an answer, when Lambert raised an eyebrow, he elaborated. “Even though we`re in the field, you'd be expected to wear finery more often than armor. And, well, keep close to my side. If we truly want to play into this ‘exotic witcher for my bedpost’ act”-Jaskier cringed at the mere thought but Lambert didn't look as uncomfortable as Jaskier felt-“then you will have to show a lot more skin than you do now.”

The witcher in front of him seemed to think about it for a moment. “I`m not going to look like a cheap whore and you won't dress me in any bright colors or make me look ridiculous.”

“Promised. You`ll only ever look like a wet dream come true.” Jaskier laughed at the idea, as if the man in front of him did not already look the part while clad in a scratchy, worn out tunic and with a dirty face. Nobody would question Jaskier being attracted to the witcher once he was all cleaned up, at least nobody who had eyes.

Lambert scowled at him though. “No need to make fun of me.” He downed the wine and stood up abruptly. “Get on with it then, clothes, sleeping place... We have to put on a show.” 

Confused by the sudden shift, Jaskier followed.

—

Lambert started to feel increasingly uncomfortable in the plush chair as soon as he sat down, like he was a dirty stain in the noble’s tent. Velvet and silk all around, clothes and paper strewn about as if every single piece wasn’t worth more than he made in a week. He knew those stingy fuckers didn't pay him enough, knew he was barely paid the same as other infantry soldiers while doing five times their work, but that wasn’t the point It was enough to survive, and if he was cut down, someone usually helped him up or called for a healer. That was more than his old life had offered him. And then he’d run his mouth once again, unable to watch this general send men to their certain death for something so entirely unnecessary as a fucking fort on a cliff so cold you could freeze your balls off. And he`d destroyed his nice life again with it, gotten thrown out, into a world with little use for Witchers and less use for mercenaries who couldn’t obey orders. Then this man whose name he’d never gotten, not his first name at least, you didn't call nobility by their first names if you wanted to keep your head and the general had only called him Prnce Julian, but Lambert knew the prince didn't care for that name. And then the only sensible one of the lot, had entered his tent and proposed to him the most outlandish and maybe craziest idea he’d ever heard. But it was nonetheless a possibility to stay where he was needed. 

And Lambert would have been lying to himself if he said he hadn’t watched the prince before this day. The man seemed entirely uncomfortable in this climate and around soldiers. He was dainty and elegant, wore ridiculous colors and wouldn’t know which end of a sword he needed to grab. Lambert would have hated to know his well being, the lives of the whole army, depended on a foppish noble with no clue about warfare, if the man had not proven himself so surprisingly reasonable and kind. 

The days the general asked (ordered) Lambert to stay for strategic meetings, the prince had been the only one to voice opinions that differed, was the only one not counting lives by their economical worth, but because they were valuable for themselves. Watching the young man who was trying his hardest to save lives in a world that wouldn’t let him was the only thing that made Lambert stay silent for so long. He would have cussed out the general weeks ago if the prince hadn’t diverted some of his more mad tactics.

Now he was sitting in this room, his arms resting on velvet, and was waiting for the prince of Kerack to pour him wine. It was utterly bewildering. He still couldn’t believe the prince had suggested keeping Lambert close, as a lover! Who would want that, would want him? The way the other man had looked at him, not staring at his scars or eyes, but appraising him almost like something to be desired, Lambert had almost believed for a moment the man truly wanted him. Of course that was ridiculous.

He looked at the tent while the prince was clearly stalling for time (nobody needed that long to open a bottle). The desk before him was cluttered with a small map, well cared for, and several notebooks, less well cared for. A small lute was standing next to the desk and a bed covered with colorful blankets was on his left. This was not the official room the prince would meet nobles in, these were his private sleeping quarters. And if they truly followed the plan, soon they would be Lambert`s as well while they were on the road. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about this.

The prince turned around, fumbling with two glasses and clearly nervous about the witcher`s presence; no wonder, most humans were, even if this one didn't smell like fear. Lambert just waited for the moment that he’d realize keeping a witcher as a bed companion was dangerous, even if the arrangement was fake and that this idea was entirely ridiculous and would never work, nobody would ever believe a prince, especially one as beautiful and soft as this one was, would fall for a scarred witcher easily three times his age. Not that people liked to think about the fact that witcher’s could be much older than any human could ever hope to be without anyone being the wiser about it or the implications of that.

When the prince stumbled through his explanation, pretty much only summarizing what he had already blurted out so abruptly in Lambert`s tent, he could smell the nervousness coming from the man in waves. Lambert kept a straight face and answered at the appropriate times with snarky comments, but most of his mind was occupied with the unspoken words. The deal they made involved much more than advisorship, it would be necessary for Lambert to let down his guard in front of this man, to trust him while he slept and walked around the camp. No swords, no armor, nothing that would protect him besides his own skills and the promise of a noble he barely knew. Not an easy task to ask of a witcher. Not one he would do just because a pretty noble asked him to. But the prince wasn't any noble, he was the one who showed compassion. And yes, a mean streak for those treating their people not right. While watching the general and everyone else realize they would not be able to get rid of Lambert any time soon would give him some satisfaction, he would have to remember stay on his toes for now. This particular noble might still turn out to be just playing around, even if he looked and smelled genuine and only nervous, not afraid.

Before Lambert even knew it, the prince talked about putting him into silks and finery and he could barely manage to get his wits together enough to make sure he wouldn’t be made to wear anything tasteless or anything ridiculous like the prince did. As good as the brown haired man looked in purple, Lambert would not be able to pull that off and he had had enough people in his long life laugh over his looks. His crooked nose and receding hairline, the scars and sickly yellow eyes, it was enough. 

Of course that didn't stop the prince from doing just that, clearly not believing Lambert could ever look even anything close to a „wet dream“, laughing before even fully finishing the thought. It was enough. Lambert walked out, stifling any hope that could have bubbled up during their short encounter so far. No matter how the prince looked at him, Lambert would be nothing more than a tool for him to achieve his goal. And if he was lucky, he could save a few people and have a comfortable spot to sleep until then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when i said I`d post weekly? yeah, I clearly lied. My writing has hit a point where I notice I can`t just jump into things and have to build up more but at the same time I`m so very lazy to actually do the building part.  
> Oh, and upcoming exams are not great for creativity it seems. So no promises on anything resembling a schedule. Or a chapter count. This was supposed to be 1/3rd of a chapter and grew into it`s own...

Jaskier tried to talk to the witcher after he walked away, noticing that Lambert could not just stomp away when they were supposed to be all lovey dovey, but the man seemed set on not acknowledging him; instead he took a truly impressive sword out of his few belongings and started polishing it. Jaskier watched him for a moment, contemplating if he should force a conversation or if Lambert was a person who was better left alone to calm down, even though Jaskier had no clue why the witcher was angry in the first place. The sudden mood swing was truly astounding. He watched the witcher until a yawn gripped him. It was late and tomorrow would be exhausting.

When Jaskier went to bed, a new problem arose. Lambert would have to stay in the same tent as him from now on and Jaskier did not have the time to add an additional or bigger bed. They'd have to share the single cot tonight. True, it was bigger than most cots soldiers used, but by far not big enough for two people not to touch at night, especially not if one of them had the shoulders of an adonis.   
He turned around to the witcher still polishing his sword with a scowl. Lambert wasn't looking at him but Jaskier didn't think for a moment the witcher wasn't paying attention to what was happening behind his back. 

Jaskier cleared his throat. „So…, erm, sleeping… I, erm... don't exactly have a second bed available and I don’t think it would be advisable for you to sleep in that old tent of yours. The general will probably have reassigned it already.“ Lambert looked up at him, the scowl not leaving his face fully but it seemed he had calmed down a bit.

„Not the first time I've slept on a floor. At least there’s no fucking weasels trying to eat your shoes at night hiding in the bushes here,“ he answered and Jaskier was sure he could see a small smirk play on the witcher`s mouth, so he smiled back brightly. 

„I am afraid I can`t offer a weasel, I can however offer a part of my bed. I promise I won't cling too much. What would it look like if I let my new beau sleep on the floor?“

Lambert looked at him for a moment without answering until he put his sword away. „Not going to refuse a warm bed. But I will push you away should you cling. I`m not your frigging plush doll.“   
Jaskier nodded and offered Lambert a second blanket from a pile, he got cold easily and wasn't used to traveling yet. It was soft and dark red and Jaskier thought it fit Lambert`s hair rather nicely.

The witcher settled down next to him without a word and not bothering to remove his clothes, just his boots, and Jaskier wasn’t sure if Lambert just had no sleeping clothes or didn't want to change into them in front of him. Lambert did not comment, just turned his back to him and ignored Jaskier again.

Hours later, Jaskier still stared up at the ceiling of his tent, the witcher next to him acting asleep, but his breathing too even while his body seemed tense like a bowstring. Jaskier himself felt nervous and unsettled by the stranger in his bed, the breathing beside him he wasn’t used to and the way his bed dipped more than usual. His lovers never spend the night in the tent, they were usually forbidden to spend time at any place that might old military or any other royal secrets. Jaskier probably had never slept with anyone next to him in his own bed since he was five.  
He wondered what tomorrow would bring, besides bags under his eyes. He supposed he could excuse them with having had a long and exciting night with his new paramour.

When the sun rose, both of them had not slept and both refused to mention it. Instead Jaskier beamed up at Lambert with energy he didn't feel. „We need to get you new clothes!“ he chirped and turned around to call a servant. First breakfast, then clothes, then the meeting.

They ate quietly, but Lambert seemed to be calmer now. Jaskier watched Lambert eat like they hadn’t fed him in days, he sure hoped the general fed their soldiers properly, and thought about the next steps. He looked at Lambert`s ruffled hair and stubbly beard, torn between wanting to rub his face against it and calling for a barber. But they wouldn't have time for that this morning.

Lambert looked up and saw Jaskier staring after a while. The witcher now no longer occupied by his meal, quirked his mouth into an adorably cheeky smile, „Thinking about putting me in pink silks after all?“ 

„Not pink, no, but you would look lovely in silks without a doubt. It’s a bit cold for that out here though. What are your thoughts on velvet?“ Jaskier stood up and walked around the table, gesturing to Lambert to follow him. The witcher did but watched him suspiciously. They both looked at a chest full of garments now and Jaskier held up a few, chugging them away before Lambert could even react. Finally, when he gave up to measure by eyes, Jaskier took a step closer to the witcher. Lambert didn't recoil when Jaskier touched his shoulder and hair, trying to measure him out in his mind, wondering if any of his clothes would fit the witcher, but it was a close call. He wasn’t thinking about anything untoward, he really wasn’t; choosing clothes for people had always been something Jaskier enjoyed and been good at and he was looking forward to putting Lambert into what he envisioned. The witcher would look positevely mouth watering. But until then Jasker would banish all such thoughts from his mind. He had a job to do and wouldn't betray the tentative trust they were developing by ogling the man who was allowing himself to be viewed like a plaything to the world to save the people he cared for. 

„I was thinking of something dark green maybe, to compliment your beautiful eyes and the color of your hair.” Was Lambert blushing and rolling his eyes? Jaskier wasn't sure but liked to think the witcher was. “We could add a necklace,“ Jaskier suggested, standing so close to the witcher he could see him tense at the mention before Lambert looked away. Something silvery glinted under the witcher's shirt when he turned his head and Jaskier remembered Lambert wearing this necklace before. Lambert grabbed the necklace with his fist, as if he wished he could crush it and hide it at the same time before Jaskier could get a better view. There was a witcher custom about them, but Jaskier couldn’t fully remember it.

„Maybe not a necklace. I see you already wear one? May I see it?“ he asked instead, hoping it’d jog his memory to see the thing in full. 

Lambert scowled at him. „This stays. And it won't get presented,“ he grit out, clearly struggling not to take a step away from Jaskier, body coiled like a cat who was going to attack because it was trapped in a corner. Jaskier stood so close he could feel the heat radiating from Lambert`s body. He recognized this tension, had seen it before at the palace, when his father cornered nobles about some kind of disrespect or other. He hated to be the reason this big man was feeling so vulnerable, so he took a step back instead of pressing the point, as curious as he was, and nodded slowly, „Yes, of course.“

When Lambert didn`t voice any additional complaints, Jaskier turned around and went looking for clothes that would fit. He would have to hire a tailor later, but right now they had to do with what Jaskier had stored. Thankfully it was quite a bit and while Lambert was stronger than five people and well muscled, he was also lithe and not that much bigger than Jaskier, even if it certainly felt like he should be.

They tried out several outfits, one was too tight, another one looked ridiculous for someone Lambert´s size, a third one had puffy sleeves and Jaskier almost burst into laughter when he saw the witcher´s horrified face.  
Somewhere around outfit number five Lambert finally voiced his displeasure, Jaskier was rather glad the witcher showed he had preferences and wasn't cowed by him.   
“How long can picking an outfit take, sparrow? This is fucking ridiculous, I´m a soldier, not a princess at a ball.”  
Jaskier laughed, “Just you wait until I make you dress for actual court. This is nothing.” He held up a hat with a bright feather and winked at the witcher who looked at him like Jaskier had just threatened him with a dagger.   
Suddenly Jaskier had to look away, face bright red, realizing he had basically just told Lambert they'd stay together for a long time to come, go to balls and courtly affairs together. This all felt so domestic, so right, it confused Jaskier greatly. So, noble raised as he was, he pushed the thought away and acted like nothing was happening, like his heart wasn't jumping around like an overexcited puppy in his chest.

Dark green truly suited the witcher. Lambert looked slightly uncomfortable and pulled at the jacket, which was straining a bit over the chest and the sleeves were too short. Jaskier walked around him, noticing the well formed thighs and how these trousers enhanced their shape. When Lambert growled at a jacket button that had popped open for the third time, Jaskierstopped his inspection and stepped closer, feeling a fond smile on his face, "Let's leave this open. To really sell the idea. Nobody could see this chest and doubt I'd fall for you," he winked, ogling the chest for a second before stepping back again. Oh, how he wanted to bury his face into it, feel the dark chest hair on his cheek and hear the heartbeat while falling asleep. But these dreams would have to wait, Jaskier just hoped Lambert hadn't noticed his small slip into daydream land.

The witcher had not missed it, he watched Jaskier with wide eyes for a fraction of a moment before he bared his teeth in an approximation of a grin, just a lot less kind and a lot more threatening, "And they say only ladies have a thing for scars. Wouldn´t have pegged you for someone to get off of those." 

Jaskier was unsure if he was allowed to make a joke about pegging after what had happened the last time, so instead he smiled back and added, "I have a thing for all things beautiful. Handsome witchers included." Lambert averted his eyes and grumbled something that sounded like „stupid nobles“ but Jaskier wasn`t sure if he`d heard right.

He was sure Lambert's cheeks were tinted pink this time when heturned around and opened the tent flap. There was nothing else to do now, they would face the general and either sell this act or get thrown out into the mud.


End file.
